


Richie Tozier: Raw Spaghetti

by apple_solutely



Series: Maturin Estate [3]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak has Big Dick Energy, Eddie Kaspbrak is That Bitch, Eddie Kaspbrak is friends with Lizzo, Good Parents Maggie & Wentworth Tozier, M/M, Mentioned Losers Club (IT), One tiny Buffy the Vampire Slayer Reference, Pop Culture References because I am incapable of not including such elements in my writing, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Genius, Richie Tozier's Stand Up Act, Soft Richie Tozier, The Losers Club Love Each Other (IT)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 10:41:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25469458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apple_solutely/pseuds/apple_solutely
Summary: Richie Tozier: Raw Spaghetti2018 16+ 50mStarring: Richie TozierGenres: Stand-up Comedy, ComediesThis movie is: RaunchyIn which Richie Tozier talks about his boyfriend, Eddie Kaspbrak, for nearly an hour.(Can be read as a stand-alone)
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: Maturin Estate [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1797088
Comments: 4
Kudos: 81





	Richie Tozier: Raw Spaghetti

**Author's Note:**

> TW for mentioned homophobia.

Wow, there's a lot of you here, huh? Think this might be my biggest show since that fiasco back in 2016. Well, congrats on making me nervous, ha-ha! Don’t worry, don’t worry. I won’t puke all over the front row. That part doesn’t come at least until I start talking about being on masturbators anonymous, tickling my pickle to women who have huge plastic tits.

 _Eugh._ Let's talk about my boyfriend.

—Yeah! Great segue, right? Please continue to cheer when I mention him because more than the fact that I love watching him blush and glare at me from where he’s standing right here on my left, backstage—I love the validation of being able to gush about him non-stop for an hour without you all throwing vegetables at me and manhandling me off stage while the theme from _Titanic_ plays in the background. Seriously. Don’t throw any vegetables at me—because trust me when I say my parents have been doing so since I was five years old, and it never got me to even nibble on a carrot—which is strange, right? Considering the overbite that has me resemble Bugs Bunny?

Eddie, however....now he can perform all kinds of magic on me. No, no, wait, listen. He got me to shower every morning, brush my teeth for two minutes, how to properly wax my asshole... Yeah. Eddie and I make _appointments_ with each other because we're fancy _adults_. I know you couldn't tell since I still make fart jokes but we make schedules, and it's very sexy. Eddie does most of the work as usual. He buys a pack of strips and a tube of hot wax. We sit down on a random sunny day on a Monday. He brings out his sexy gloves...And then completely demolishes my asshole in a super non-fun way. But hey, I get to torture him in return by waxing him. So, guys, you haven’t peaked romance until you’ve waxed your boyfriend’s balls. Get on our level! The point is, Eddie, teaches me things constantly. He's a walking, talking life hack.

My parents invited us to dinner one night. You know, reunite and reconnect and all that bullshit. Halfway through this lovely affair, they’re both gaping at us from their side of the table because I was suddenly their same old dog who’d been taught new tricks, just because I ate my vegetables like a good boy. My mom was weeping full-on tears while my dad went out to get his phone to record this glorious moment. My parents already adore Eds and practically think of him as family. I mean, my mom seriously told me she loves Eddie more than she loves me, back when I was thirteen and had multi-colored braces with a haircut inspired by Kurt Russel from _Tango and Cash_ , except, the end-result made me look more like Nicole Kidman from the movie _BMX Bandits_ , so, I don’t blame her. Let’s just say that Eddie now had them in the palms of his hands because he’s just that awesome. Unfortunately, my parents don’t have what my boyfriend has. He’s too powerful. He’s too sexy. He’s too controlling and will quite literally threaten to never give me another handjob if I don’t finish eating that zucchini he just put in my plate. 

All’s fair in love and war, right?

You know what’s stranger, though? There I was, eating my vegetables in my childhood home, and making a trip down memory lane. Thinking of how far we’ve come while there are tears falling down my face and I’m smiling like a lunatic, looking like a clown who just got stepped on by a small child who didn’t think hiring a clown _for his birthday party was a fun idea, dad._

_Geez!_

Eddie’s ignoring me because I embarrass him like this on the daily while my parents couldn’t care less because they’ve dealt with my emotional ass longer than Eddie has! But I’m just having a meltdown at dinner because my parents are doing this fun bit that all old people do, which is, have a telepathic conversation. Let me explain. So, my mom doesn’t lift a finger and my dad, without blinking, picks up the salt and hands it to her. They, then, proceed to have a conversation that sounds more like morse code to me rather than the English language. It’s just an hour of them going, “Remember when—" “Sally—" “toenails—" “reminded me of—" “Right!” “Cheese is the best—" “Patriarchy is such a bitch”—like what the fuck? How does that even relate? It’s gibberish? It's bad enough I have to deal with this from Stan and Patty who finish each other’s sentences, and barely have to open their mouths since whenever we go visit, I catch them staring at each other every two minutes, eyebrows doing the cha-cha slide. Once, they were doing their whole thing and suddenly Patty starts giggling and I nearly drown myself in orange juice, wondering why relationships have to be this super complicated Mad Libs sheet?

And it just pisses me off _more_ because that never happens with Eddie and I? We technically live into two different worlds and wavelengths. Sometimes, I’ll be rambling on about Ben and Beverly’s new dog and Eddie will ask me if this is my way of convincing him to adopt a dog together. Then I have to stare at him and explain how I’m trying to tell him to stop removing his body hair for fucks sake. I’ll be talking about how much I love meat and Eddie will tell me we’ll go out for dinner except I didn’t fucking want to go out to dinner because I wanted to us to _fuck_ instead! _At home!_ Why is everything so hard?! Why can’t I grasp the fact that when Eddie glares at me when I’m sleeping, it’s because he’s pissed I left clothes all over the floor. Or when he comes home after work and sits down next to me with a pout he wants me to cuddle him while we eat greasy pizza and watch bad reality tv? 

Did we somehow miss something in between? Accidentally go from step one to step thirty without letting the middle part brew so that our relationship ages like wine? Who knows? And who cares? Because guess what we _do_ do, is finish each other...—’s sandwiches. Geez, guys. Get your mind out of the trash!

 _Frozen_ got nothing on us. Do you realize how much strength and bravery it took for Eddie to share food with me? He would literally rather share swap while we make out but refuse to eat from the same plate because he thinks I’m the grossest person alive. I consider that a fucking win, alright? My boyfriend will share my ice-cream cone with me. Will your boyfriend ever do that? No, he will not, because we’re disgustingly in love! Will your hypochondriac boyfriend suck your dick like it’s his inhaler? No. He will not. Because. We’re. In. Love. Shit, I’ll randomly find Eddie doing laundry, shaking his ass in his booty shorts, jamming to 'Truth Hurts' by Lizzo and I will melt into the floor and become one with the tile because he’s so gorgeous and I love him so much for doing the laundry for the both of us. Cause we all know, I won’t ever do it.

So we do this thing right, where I show him off at red carpet premieres and get him expensive tickets to shit like rugby games because seeing him scream at the players gets me all hot under the collar. While in his part, Eddie takes me to his Family Day at work, because he can see me sweat in front of important corporate people who absolutely give less shit about me than Eddie himself. I think that's why he works there in the first place because he’s a risk-analyst? I honest to god still don’t know what he does? Sometimes he’s talking about money and legal shit and I think he’s either a lawyer or an accountant? And then at home, on online conference calls, he does this nasally voice, kinda like the one I’m doing now, says, “statistically speaking”, and then carries on about percentages and words that offer no meaning to me because I have exactly one brain cell and it activates only when the song 'Despacito' plays. 

He’s Chandler from _Friends_ because I couldn’t have any clue what his job entails in the least bit. One time, Eddie did try to explain to me and I blacked out. I might’ve closed my eyes for a second and then bam, it’s two hours of my life gone that I will never ever get back. But that’s okay, Eddie went all soft and mushy because he thought I was being a considerate boyfriend and proceeded to make out with me for two more hours—to which I have quite the opposite feeling about. Ha! Score for me! I got to take a nap and get completely mauled like fucking meat to a ravaging lion because my boyfriend is a sexy wild beast? Hells yeah, bitches. I’m living my life. What could be better than this? And you know, I’m a huge lovestruck dork who, as I mentioned before, have only one brain cell right—and even then, it’s completely useless. So, you might be wondering why I didn’t think for a second that my boyfriend is the raging queen of petty behavior and would’ve definitely noticed me passing the fuck out in the middle of his explanation about cost-effective methods of implementing security policies—and holy shit, I can’t believe I actually registered that itty bitty piece of information, but how can I not when it’s the sole reason Eddie continues to torture me? 

You can already guess where this is going because Eddie’s form of petty torture is dragging me to those Family Days at work with him, just so that he can ignore the assholes he calls his co-workers. Basically, it’s a whole hatred orgy. Lots of it going around, plenty for everyone, believe me. And these people live under a rock and know absolute jack shit about celebrities. Now, I’m not an egotistical jerk who throws my name around and expects people to squeal, bending on their knees to propose to me or sign their face so that they can get it tattooed. Eddie is, though. Once, we went to this super fancy restaurant last minute and were clueless about reservations, and Eddie is already a guy with a storage unit up his ass, so you can only imagine what he’s like when he’s hungry. The kids call it hangry and no one has seen hangry unless you’ve seen Eddie hangry. Hangry with a capital H. He’s a millisecond away from attacking this poor lady who had literally no vendetta against us besides the fact that she was doing her job by notifying that all tables were booked. Of course, Eddie is pretty much 'Truth Hurts' incarnate. A hundred percent that bitch who uses my name to get a table at some seven-star restaurant that I honestly shouldn’t have been able to afford. But who’s complaining? Well, except me because Eddie seeks pleasure in my discomfort. He has a kink for it, and it’s kink galore at every office event he drags me to. I have seriously never heard him cackle as much as I have during those events. He cries laughing. He beams like the fucking sun. 

However, some people don’t get with the program and have been dropped too many times on the head to put together any figment of decency and professionalism in a work environment, and unfortunately can’t tell when they’re pushing a joke too far. Eddie has this boss who shall remain unnamed. He’s taking a jab at my appearance to a whole new level, which was fucking hurtful, I spent time on my outfit, I really did! I know I make it look effortless and all but it isn’t easy to dress up like a slob seven days out of a week! Now, his boss is really ripping into it, exhausting his jokes to the bare minimum—like, who does this bitch think he is? A low-life comedian with a Netflix deal as an outlet to deal with his repressed trauma? No. Fuck no. And this douchebag seems to be able to push the line so far that we’re all the way in Mexico now, about to take us to the fucking sea because he can’t seem to understand the simple concept of Eddie and I being in a relationship. 

Look, I’m offended. I’ve got a right to be because I spent my entire life building a constant closet as a barrier around me. All my conversations with boys or men were me creating a six-foot radius around myself because I thought that anyone who stepped too close could automatically smell the gay off me. I mean, I barely looked into a man’s eyes for longer than three seconds before casting my gaze down since my fucked up logic was that if I wasn’t looking at his face and instead, looked at his crotch, I’ll convince him I’m a hetero.

The other day Eddie and I were jogging in our neighborhood—I know. I should probably give a backstory, huh? Yeah, those people laughing just pictured me running, didn’t you? Hilarious, right? I agree. I totally agree. Because on a normal day, I look like a dork in front of Eddie anyway, but when I’m running? Guys, you do not want to see that trainwreck. Picture 2016 me choking on stage and now times that mess by five-hundred and you’ll get a rough estimate to how horrifying it is. Eddie—that jackass—wears his tiny shorts and tank top, modeling it up of course and we both are matching, which means we look like the gayest couple in existence, especially because him and I have rainbow-colored headbands strapped to our foreheads. But you know what? People should seriously stop assuming things anyways? Why is it anyone's business to point it out? Why can’t it be a normal thing? I don’t go around yelling "straight!" at people who appear so.

And this random woman on the street, walking her pomeranian sees the hot mess that is us—specifically Eddie being the hot part of that duo because I put the mess in hot mess, and this woman just yells "gays!" so fucking loud, the entire neighborhood stopped to look at us, giving me crazy flashbacks to horrible memories from my childhood. Fuck that head-spinning scene from _The Exorcist_ ; you have seen nothing till you've been to the Hellmouth that is Derry, alright? We're a town that harbored a child murderer. I think we take the cake! And I kid you not, I think a couple of people even peeked through the curtains of their windows, full-on _Rear Window_ style.

So, I apologize to this insane woman and ask her to repeat what she just yelled while taking out my earphones because I was listening to 'What Makes You Beautiful' by One Direction on full volume—not because I didn’t hear the first time, but because I _wanted_ her to say it again. Because I’m fucked up. Because now? I’m proud! I’m ready to throw fists! Come at me, homophobes! I’m not scared of ya! What the fuck do you think Eddie and I are? Bro’s? Man, I hate to break it to you but we’re not in fucking Texas. More importantly, give me a list of all the reasons that made you think I was straight so that I can be even more flamboyant about my homosexual love for Eddie. You know I’ll do it too! It’s practically my hobby! 

And apparently Eddie is on the same line of thought about his boss and beats me to the punch—literally. 

Yup. My tiny super freak of a boyfriend knocks his boss out cold. K.O.. He’s down like a rock. Rock as in a fucking rock war. And shit, I’ve been beaten down a lot in my time. Funnily enough, once with a rock, and the second time was a weak-ass punch from Bill who was still able to fling me to the ground—but hell, this is no weak-ass punch, guys. Eddie might as well duel Dwayne Johnson. Long-story-short, an ambulance gets called and his boss ends up in the hospital with a broken nose. Eddie’s not even fazed in the least. He punches his boss in the face and exits like some badass Keanu Reeves character, quitting his job and getting rid of another toxic relationship in his life.

And that’s when I gift him tickets to a Lizzo concert with me. Front row, too!

I spoil my boyfriend. And yeah, okay, I felt crappy for being the reason he quit his job even though he was totally going to get fired for that anyways. But I shit you not, I learned the most important life lesson in that exact moment. Eddie sees the tickets and almost shits a rainbow streak out of his ass, like fucking Nyan cat or some shit, rips off our underwear and rams me three times in a row while I grip his office desk that my dad gifted us, holding on for dear life because Eddie might as well have killed me thrice. I couldn’t walk for three days after that—one for each time!—because I was so over-stimulated, my dick almost fell off at the slightest movement. It just died. 

A couple of weeks later, I buy him plane tickets to come on tour with me since this is the first time in our relationship he’ll actually be able to stay with me the entire time instead of leaving in the middle to go back to his soul-crushing job. And I’m more than ecstatic about this opportunity, I almost cry while handing the tickets because I’m a clingy bitch and I literally can not sleep without cuddling him at night and well yeah, who doesn’t want their boyfriend with them twenty-four-seven? Right? Apparently Eddie doesn’t love me as much as he loves Lizzo because he barely reacts and says, "oh, that’s cool", the least bit enthused, while I’m on the floor, holding my chest, feeling like I just got shot. 

My boyfriend absolutely hates me and I think that may be my most favorite thing about him. Fucked up, right? Not really, because guess what, Twitter, there’s such a thing as comedy and exaggeration. Sometimes I believe Eddie loves me more than I love him—and now you’re all thinking: the fuck? More than you? More than the guy who dedicates an entire Netflix special to said boyfriend and never stops talking about him? The answer is yes. And nope. The last thing I need to do is explain my relationship to you guys because A, it’s literally none of your business and B, it’s not like it’ll make a difference anyway because hate and cancel culture is the shittiest thing and it’s as if the second negativity pops up, you all come to feed on it like some psychotic space clown. So yeah. Fuck off, haters.

Now, as I was saying before I side-tracked for the sixty-ninth time—ha! Oh, yes, red carpet premieres. 

Okay, so in all fairness, Eddie doesn’t really need me for all these Hollywood events, because, I mean, have you forgotten that ninety-percent of our friends are famous? Bill gets invited to all these cool premieres to horror movies and the fucking Oscars because he’s some hot-shot who can’t write endings but his dim-witted adorableness makes up for it while Mike, Ben, Bev, and Stan can take Eddie to places he might actually enjoy. Such as a cute little book club meetings with white moms who bring fancy sliders and red wine to read smut every once a week. Or a cute little BookCon or BookExpo because apparently that's a thing and Eddie can buy books about car engines because he’s a nerd who knows how to tune a car as good as he knows how to [redacted]—I know, I know, TMI, but what the hell are you doing here if you don’t know how crude and intimate I get in these special just because I can and am surprisingly allowed to? 

Says a lot about you and who my true fans are...

And, as for Bev, she takes us to fashion shows and catwalks—because she dedicates entire clothing lines to each of us, which means I groveled on the floor—gave her massages for a week just so that she could say yes and fulfill my sexual fantasies about—wait for it—a whole-ass collection of fanny packs and booty shorts Eddie could model in. And fuck, you guys, I got to see it all before the entire world could and let me tell you, it’s going to be something. So, yeah, go check out the new Summer collection when it released and give her all the love because she deserves it for dealing with my horny ass. Love ya, Molly Ringwald! Anyways, even Ben’s events are exciting. He has a celebration every time he designs a new building and there’s always an all-you-can-eat buffet with vegan and gluten-free food and Eddie is all about that jazz. Heck, Eddie gets more excited about Stan’s events more than he enjoys my shit because I don’t know, they apparently speak in codes since their jobs literally sound like the exact same thing to me, and it’s just me in the middle of the two of them, trying to grasp what they’re talking about, and getting distracted every time Eddie talks about synthesizing data for analysis and investigating how to support team projects for business requirements—oh lord—how do I know all this? Am I secretly a good listener? Or just a freak who gets off on his boyfriend using big words? 

Eh, probably the latter. Hey, don’t judge me! I’m not the only one creaming my pants at knowledge. Brains are sexy, alright? I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be dating a zombie and yeah, maybe I do act similar to one because of that one brain cell but I was valedictorian, remember? Basically, I know when Eddie wants me to talk dirty, he wants me spitting out every bit of random information I know about René Descartes's ideologies. We're in the middle of coitus and I just go "'When the soul wills to remember something, this volition brings it about that the gland leans in various directions, driving the spirits towards various regions of the brain'" and Eddie will lose it with a "Fuck, yes, Richie!", and there is literally no possible way to tell if the sex is good or if he's just agreeing with what I say. Well. Apparently, it does it for him. He loves it. And he loves me! Which is why he tags along to these boring Hollywood events like I used to with his Family Day at work. Better to face the music together than not at all, right? We’re a team. 

Typical of me, I get over the top excited about red-carpets since all these reporters gush about my work and I get another free chance to talk about my boyfriend in public. I practically swoon like a Southern Belle when they bring him up and Eddie has to just hold his arms out as I fall into them like a pro because he makes me practice it at home before leaving every single time we have to go an event. And for good reason. He doesn’t want me to bruise in a non-sexual context! He’ll get jealous of the floor and you all know, any chance of making Eddie look good and strong on camera is a win for me too. Like, I hundred-percent go back on youtube and click on these compilations of Eddie holding me and jerk off to how his arms look all muscle-y in them.   
But, hey, hey, turns out, I really do want Eddie for his body because while I drool over how hot he is, Eddie watches compilations of us being cute and adorable and then goes to Buzzfeed to read articles that list off every reason why we’re the most iconic, best queer couple in existence. 

Aww, shucks. I love him so much. Not sure if I can keep my promise to him and not cry on stage but I’ll try my best. And oh, look, he just gave me the middle finger. Isn’t he an original dreamboat? 

Okay, yeah, that question was absolutely redundant. Of course, he’s a dreamboat! And he looks even better in a specially designed suit and tie by Beverly Marsh, once again fulfilling my childhood crush on Keanu Reeves while he's arm-in-arm beside me as the photographers lap all five-foot-nine of him up. So do the reporters, who desperately call out to us, asking what we’re wearing. I’m about to answer with a joke but Eddie. Oh, Eddie. He’s a chuckalicious man who constantly likes to remind me why half my source material comes from him because he smirks a little bit—making my heart stop—and gestures to me, saying, “Well this is my bottom,” and then gestures to himself, “And this is the top,” while my brain fries and this woman with too much eye-liner laughs and laughs until she ruins her equally horrible mascara. And I am just gone while Eddie grins up at me with such mirth because he’s the smoothest motherfucker ever and I just know that if I made that joke, I would never be able to get away with it. I know this because Eddie is extremely passionate about queer rights, who hates social injustice and scolds me for glorifying topping or bottoming, or like sexualizing the LGBTQ community in social media presence because people think we’re all about sex, apparently? I don’t know where they get _that_ idea. It’s not like I over-share about my personal sex life.

But, nah. That’s all in good fun and through mutual respect and honesty. Because I can tell you straight out—ha!—that knowing you’re gay has nothing do with sex—and yeah, okay, maybe it does sometimes but I knew I was gay since the third grade! And it was solely because Eddie was just so goddamn adorable and mean. So, yeah, whatever does it for you, man!

Truly!

Cause I apparently do it for Eddie too! It’s a mystery for the ages why, because I look like Kermit the frog with a potbelly, long arms and legs and—don’t even get me started about my arms in pictures because I look like a robot in each image, giving me another valid reason to bring Eddie with me everywhere because at least then, I can occupy my hands by holding his hand or his waist. But me! Eddie loves all six-foot-one of me, even with my horrible hygiene and Bugs Bunny overbite! But compared to Lizzo?

Gah!

 _Pfft_.

I don’t _exist_ to Eddie if Lizzo is in the same room. Of course, there’s me wallowing only just slightly because sure, Eddie dates me and whatever, but I’ve never been as threatened by someone else coming in between our relationship as I have been with Lizzo—and may I remind you that Mike, Ben and Bev are our closest friends! So, imagine my surprise when after the concert, I find out that they became mutual friends on Twitter in between the period of me handing Eddie our front-row tickets and them hugging in her dressing room where I realize that they’re apparently BFF’s. And Eddie is just like trying to be so cool in front of her, stuttering like a flustered boy in love and I nearly witness him have an asthma attack on the spot—when he doesn’t even have asthma in the _first fucking place!_ I’m over there, about to conjure an inhaler out of my ass, thinking to myself, _dammit_ , I’ve never seen Eddie this excited and nervous ever! He’s probably going to shit in his banana colored boxers that I gifted him and virtually combust in the arms of this woman who could seriously steal my man from me in a heartbeat because have you seen her? Have you seen her beauty? Well, try breathing the same air. I almost embarrassed myself by bowing down and kissing her feet if it weren’t for Eddie digging his nails in my arm, saving me from yet another public celebrity encounter. 

So it goes on, I get to formally meet Lizzo. She’s every bit as cool as I imagined her to be. We go out to dinner together, all three of us, and reserve a private booth, because this is Lizzo and Lizzo, can snap her fingers, make anything happen. We’re laughing and sharing stories and it’s _all_ fun and games with a side of holy shit because Eddie still looks deathly ill. I’m becoming more and more fidgety throughout the night and just when I think I should take Eddie’s hand, grab a cab to our hotel, give him a nice, warm bath...oh shit.

Sorry, I got choked up. Excuse me...

Just when I think it’s time for poor Eddie to get a break...that asshole gets up, goes on one knee on the disgusting floor that’s probably seen more food than the fucking garbage disposal, watery-eyed while I gape down at him in confusion because he’s totally going to have a break-down later about germs getting on his navy blue pants. And I’m a dumb-fuck who’s about to tell him to get up, because I love him and will look out for him, always—when he tells me to look at my spaghetti bowl more closely. I’m baffled. Lizzo gives me an encouraging thumbs-up. So, I look down at the bowl the waiter just put down and on the side of the plate is a silver, looped ring, just lying there.

As I forget to breathe.

As I literally choke on my tongue and stare and stare.

We all know Eddie is an impatient person and he’s so exhausted of me behaving like my systems crashed, going full-on Windows reboot personified, embarrassing him in front of his celebrity crush, so he takes the ring and my eyes follow it like a magnet because at this point it’s slowly registering what exactly is going on. I would love to tell you all every detail from Eddie’s speech, but I’m afraid it’s completely erased from my memory. I remember zilch because I cried like a baby throughout it all and there’s snot all over us. We’re disgusting. So fucking disgusting.

Eddie makes Lizzo take a picture of us and even she looks weepy. So that's the story behind that infamous picture of me crying on the floor while Eddie is frowning at me and Lizzo staring into the camera with a big smile and true to Trashmouth fashion and glory, that was the moment I became a meme. It was phenomenal. Exceptional. Chefs kiss. _Mwah!_

Well, thank you and goodnight! 

What? I’m sorry? Did you want to hear more? Oh....huh. That’s a first. I’m kidding, I’m kidding! Don’t throw any tomatoes at me or you’ll have to deal with Eddie’s wrath! Alright, alright, I’m getting to the point. 

I say yes. _Of course,_ I fucking say yes, people! How could you ever dream of me doing so otherwise? It would be the most out-of-character thing I’d do! I say yippee ki-yay, motherfuckers! This is my dream guy! It's not like I spent the _entirety_ of our childhood, writing my last name as Tozier-Kaspbrak in my notebook, filling _page after page_ like a lovesick fool!

We made out in our hotel room that night for five hours straight while cuddling and crying about the engraved Spaghetti on my ring and Trashmouth on his, instead of being normal and having mind-blowing semi-married sex as we should be. Fuck that. We make our own rules! The point is, always do nice things for your boyfriend because he might appreciate you so much that he proposes and makes an honest man out of you! Okay, don’t hate me but we also got married two months ago as a private affair with the Losers because we wanted it to for just us before it became the wedding of the century for all of you folks.

Oh. Wow, okay, I was totally expecting an uproar and all the rage but you guys are pretty cool, you know that? Yeah! That guy who just whooped gets it! Honestly, though, our wedding was simple and perfect. I’m surprised it didn’t get leaked, especially since you could easily zoom into that meme of us and see wedding bands on our fingers, but, it is what it is. Oh, and of course Lizzo was invited! She has now adopted us and gets ten percent of my cut every time I mention her in this special. 

Laugh it up, laugh it up. But guess what! I don’t have to hide my ring anymore! I got married, baby! I got fucking hitched! To the love of my life, Eddie Spagheddie! He put a ring on this oaf-sized hand! Shared vows with me! _Me!_ Till death do us part—ha! Sucker. Does he think death will get him rid of me? No way! As if I could let him go now that I’ve got him right where I need him! You’re stuck with me, babe. For all of eternity...End quote because we practically made vows to not even look at another guy if one of us kicks the bucket before the other. Here’s to us, lover. It’s been decades-long in the making and we fucking deserve it, if I do say so myself. 

Now I could go all night, Nevada, but, unfortunately, some poor fucker has a slot after me so I better bid farewell before security _does_ manhandle me off the stage. It’s been an absolute delight to perform for you all. Enjoy yourselves everybody, and take it smooth and easy with the next guy for me. Heard he's a virgin.

**Author's Note:**

> Writing these comedy sketches are so much fun and super cathartic. It’s easy to get in the mind of Richie Tozier and that might just be because I imagine him to ramble on and on the same way I do. Which is why it's safe to say I have a lot more of these planned for the future.  
> Hope you all enjoyed it! Feel free to leave a comment, reading them makes my day :,)  
> One more thing, Passions of the Soul is the book written by René Descartes that Richie quotes. I was randomly searching for a usable quote and found this, thinking I hit the jackpot because it relates in the grand scheme of things(?).


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